The Game
by shadowkitty723
Summary: For centuries, wizardkind has played the Game. It began as a quest for a king, and became the chance of a lifetime. Win, and you achieve instant prestige and fame. Lose, and you are reviled, scorned. Thomas James Potter has been challenged, by the best player in the entire world. And he's not entirely sure that the Boy-Who-Lived will come out on top. Let the Games begin.


It started with a letter. But then again, with them, it always had.

Severus Snape sat in his usual seat at the Staff Table, observing the crowd of chattering students like he always did, reveling in the success of the mask he had created for himself. No one dared bother Professor Severus Snape, and he knew, as he had always known, that things were best kept this way.

_They must not know just who they are dealing with, son_.

Wise words, he thought to himself, staring absently up at the cloudless ceiling. It was a pity that those days of wisdom were long over, for him.

Without looking, he knew, instinctively, that it was here. Sudden silence swept over the hall, a lone caw echoing through the cavernous room. With a heavy sigh, he tore his eyes away from the beautiful sky, and rose swiftly, extending an arm with practiced ease.

Several purebloods gasped in surprise, recognizing the bird and understanding it's significance. The others, a mixture of half-bloods, muggle-borns, and those who had either forgotten the old ways, or were not active in international politics. Severus, however, ignored them completely, reaching out to stroke the beautiful raven with the ease born of familiarity.

How well he knew this bird, how many times he had sat with him, teaching him to fly, to carry letters, like a common owl. How many times he had flown with him, the two of them, together, black feathers glistening against the sparkling violet of the night sky. How well he knew this bird. How well he remembered.

_Nevermore._

With practiced ease, the bird extended a leg, and he leaned forward, carefully uncoiling the single, tiny slip of paper from the scaly limb. With shaky hands, he unfurled it, smoothing it gently onto the table as he read.

It was as he had taught him, so long ago, short, concise, and to the point.

_It is done._ _– S_

He nodded, slipping a hand into his pocket to pull out a quill. Swiftly, he grabbed Minerva's inkwell, ignoring her indignant squawk, and dipped in the pen, scrawling his answer on the very bottom of the page, too small for any of the others to see. _OK_.

Gently, he wrapped the tiny slip of paper around the proffered leg, stroking the soft, feathered head one last time. Suddenly, he jerked his arm, flinging the bird into the air, and it soared off, great black wings flapping loudly in the total silence.

And Severus Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts, double agent of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, sat down and reached for a piece of toast.

_It has been done. No one is safe_.

~oOo~

By now, the mysterious raven had been all but forgotten, despite the fact that it had been only a day since it had last appeared. Speculation had run rampant through all four Houses, however, and it took Snape over 400 points in loss, per House, to finally quash the rumors.

However, he didn't miss the suspicious looks of the purebloods, those whose families still followed the old ways. They suspected, he knew. But they did not know, exactly.

As a result, he knew, deep inside, that they would do absolutely nothing.

Until the second letter came.

It was the same bird, soaring through the Great Hall halfway through lunch in total, majestic silence.

But the letter was different, and, to those who knew what it meant, that was all that mattered.

While the first had been nothing but a simple slip of paper, wrapped around the raven's leg, this was encased in an envelope, vividly decorated in red, white, black, and blue, four squares and four triangles, arranged in a distinctive emblem that many failed to recognize.

Those that did, however, gasped out loud in shock and horror, trembling as the raven soared closer. The purebloods relaxed fractionally once it had passed, but their wide, fearful gazes followed it around the room, all the way until its landing.

But it hadn't come for Snape. He knew that.

Instead, it landed directly in front of one Thomas James Potter, more commonly known as the Boy-Who-Lived.

And, completely on it's own, the letter fell open, the colorful envelope unwinding into clear, official-looking script.

_I, Shadow, ten-time champion of the Game of Magic, do challenge you, Thomas James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, in this upcoming Gaming season._

Thomas's hazel eyes widened in horror, and he looked up, reflexively, at his mother, who gaped back, looking just as confused.

_For the duration of the Gaming season, you, the aforementioned, are declared my nemesis in the great Arena of Power._

Dumbledore rose, blue eyes narrowed, the usual creepy twinkle completely gone as he looked around at the confused and/or horrified students. "If the perpetrator of this tasteless prank would please come forward, we may resolve this without any further punishment."

"That's not a prank," a Slytherin sixth year moaned, looking faintly green as he stared at the talking letter in horror. "Shadow challenged him…_Shadow_…oh, God…"

_I believe you have what it takes to survive, Mr. Potter, but only if you are truly prepared to accept your destiny._

"What's going on?" Lily shrieked, emerald eyes wide as she stared at the letter. No one answered her, listening in bewilderment to the end of the strange summons.

_If by Magic you were gifted, then by Magic shall you be confirmed._

"Silence!" Dumbledore roared, brandishing his wand ineffectively as he glared down the still-speaking letter. "What are you? Tell me!"

_Let the Games begin,_ the voice finished, dripping with undisguised glee. And, somewhere in the crowd, the unthinkable happened.

Severus Snape began to laugh.

* * *

**Yes, it's another wrong BWL story. Don't kill me, just hear me out!**

**This is actually ****_very loosely_**** based off of a story ****_kind_**** of like this, that I found a while back, that I can't remember the name of. Essentially, it's another wrong BWL story, yes, but in ****_this_**** version, Harry isn't the BWL either, so if that makes ****_anything_**** better...?**

**No...?**


End file.
